Dear Diary,
(Jesus on parade I HATE writing that)
I don't know if it counts as love. I really care about him, I do. But it's not some sissy lay-your-favorite-jacket-on-a-mud-puddle love. (Unless he asked me but, hey, I like my jacket and he wears boots) it's more of a strip-him-down-force-against-a-wall-and-fuck-like-there's-no-tommorrow love. Or lust, like I said, I'm still debating.
You're always reading about true love or some gay ass shit, but I'm always wondering, is any of that shit true? I really do care about him, I think if he asked me to jump off a bridge, I would do it. Mostly because I trust him to have a boat or net or something at the bottom to catch me if I do jump off.
Besides, have you ever seen his eyes? They're fucking huge, and like, all trusting and shit, like with a look that says "I'm-innocent-and-this-gun-is-totally-not-for-shooting-you-in-the-balls-but-drop-your-pants-anyway. And if it was anyone else, I would probably try and beat the crap out of them.
But I can't hate him. Like without that idiot seems…very bad. See? I wouldn't die without him, or fall into a deep depression, but I just don't know. I can't imagine life without him. It's not horrible, deeply depressing and it doesn't make me want to slit my wrists, I just can't. I keep drawing blanks. I don't think it's possible for there to be life without him. Gay, isn't?
So, back to the question; do I love him, or is it just lust? I care about him; I want him to be safe, and the idea of anyone else touching him makes me annoyed enough to punch a wall. I can't see us talking and taking long walks on beaches, I see him and me, tangled up in my sheets, I see him wearing a collar at my feet, I could see his look of loyalty and it makes me proud. As if I'm a trainer who finished taming a dangerous animal.
I don't want a bunch of mushy valentines, I don't want a little blue house with a picket fence and a dog. Or a couple of little girls with blonde hair in pigtails, maybe one named Michelle. That was my grandma's name after all…
Getting off topic. Sorry. But now that I think about it, I like to give valentines better than get; I wonder if he likes red. After all, I can't hang around his house and ask for sex, we'd both get tired of that. But maybe he could come live with me in apartment; the bed's big enough for both of us.
Wow, I just reread all of that. I sounded like a thirteen year-old, hormone driven teen instead of a 36 year-old man. How lovely. Ha. I just realized something. If he read this, he wouldn't even notice it was about him. How'd I manage to get away without saying his name?
Weird. But, up until the next sentence he would have been cool with this. I don't think Tweek's homophobic but he might have had a mini-heart attack right about now. There. I possibly, just might, maybe have a crush on Tweek fucking Tweak. Yay. That was sarcasm by the way.
God, I'm rambling on like I'm still in high school. Although, Ruby was right. Writing it down did make me realize something. (Stupid smart 30 year old punk.) I only have one thing left to say after going on and on about one of my best friends. Fuck you, cupid, you diaper wearing fag.
Well, I hate to leave you, but I gotta go meet with Tweek. But, wait, one last thing. You know what? Just in case, I'm wearing my second best jacket.
Sincerely,
Craig Tucker
HAHAHAHA I WUZ RIGHT! IM ALWAYZ RIGHT! RUBY TUCKER, ALL MIGHTY MATCHMAKER WAS HERE, BITCHEZ! BOW TO ME NOW!